


A Simple Word

by spun809



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean finds your journal, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, possible WIP, sweetness ensues, writer!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spun809/pseuds/spun809
Summary: Dean stumbles onto your private journal and what follows is nothing more than sweetness





	A Simple Word

He hesitated, hand wrapped lightly over the knob, the door was already open a crack and it was too tempting in his state of boredom not to open it fully. Even though he knew Y/N was gone, there was a little bit of tension inside of him as he debated his next move. Dean wasn’t really sure where she had run off to, she had only said that she was going to be right back, but that was over an hour ago. He knew he shouldn’t be overbearing, and even though his gut reaction was to freak out and scour the town searching for her, he forced himself not to. Instead, he had decided to wander through the bunker, and if he just happened to land in front of her bedroom door then, that had to be just a coincidence, right?

“Hello?” He said to no one in particular, he already knew the room was going to be empty, and as he fully stepped into the darkened space he was proven right.

Glancing around he took in the general state of the room, it was fairly clean but not overly so, and he decided he might miss something in the darkness so he flicked on the light. He squinted at the brightness, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he suddenly wanted to touch everything. He forced himself not to, treading lightly, so as not to disturb anything, or leave any evidence he had been here at all. He checked out the room and laughed a little as he looked over the walls plastered with posters, photos, and quotes that inspired you, you had truly made the bunker your home.

For the most part he kept his hand studiously glued to his side, and even though they were craving to reach out and brush them over every item that he did see from your comforter, a shade that only you could love, or the slightly rumpled sweatshirt that he recognized from your nightly trips to the fridge, he resisted.

But as he looked over the pictures he knew that temptation was getting the better of him, there was a notebook lying on the bed, it had her familiar handwriting and he longed to flip open the cover, he told himself not to.

“Don’t go through her stuff,” he said to himself out loud, “it's private, and she would be pissed if she found out.”

It didn’t seem to sink into his brain though because he carefully lifted the slightly bent notebook and rubbed his fingers over the thick black cover. The pages were well loved, no longer flat and pressed together and he could tell that most of them were full. He had always been curious to what exactly she put into this thing since typically she kept it with her at all times.

“Don’t do it,” he said as he opened the cover, taking in the elegant curve of her handwriting.

There was something about the shape of each letter that perfectly captured how he thought of her. Once he had gotten his fill of tracing his finger along the path of her signature, he started to flip through each page. It was full of stories, some he recognized things that they had done or seen on various hunts, others were strange and exotic, not even the monsters they saw on a daily basis could compare to the things she came up with from a place of pure imagination. It was so overwhelming his breath was catching, it felt like he was getting to know this deep place inside of her that he had never seen.

Losing himself in the way she described characters, trying to get to know them or imagine what they looked like was intoxicating. No one pegged Dean as a reader, but the truth was he loved reading, and your words pierced him and left him needing more. He felt like he was being completely sucked into another realm.

“Dean!”

He hadn’t heard the light tread of footsteps coming up behind him, so his body jumped slightly at the harsh call of his name, and then his heart fall. Y/N was home, and here he was standing in your room with your most secret item open in his hands.

Forcing himself to turn and face you, he put effort into picking each foot up and turning around, “I’m so sorry,” the words were genuine and he silently sent a prayer to Chuck that you wouldn’t pummel him right there.

Ripping the notebook from his hands you stared at him with wide eyes, obviously in shock that he had come into your room and was rifling through your private things, but then your gaze softened at Dean’s hunched shoulders and little pout. It was impossible to stay mad at a Winchester.

You handed him back your most prized possession, and now it was his turn to look shocked, he knew his face must have shown his surprise because of the little laugh you let out.

“It’s fine,” you said, “so tell me, what do you think? Any good potential stories in there?”

He knew now was the time for being honest, you were vulnerable but you deserved to know exactly what he thought, “it’s all amazing, your writing is awesome.”

He felt his heartbeat quicken as he took in the way your cheeks flushed a little pinker, and you dipped your gaze to the floor, there was something so sweet and innocent in your gesture it had him wanting to wrap you in his arms and hold you for the rest of time.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

“Well, it’s the truth,” he wanted to add just how much the words had gotten to him. The way that he had felt transported to another place and time, that there was something about the way that you were able to capture such small and minute details in such a powerful way it made them come to life. Instead, he just added, “you should become an author.”

You couldn’t tell him what the words meant to you. It was a secret desire you had always harbored to become a novelist, but you told yourself it was unlikely. Hardly anyone published fiction anymore and getting your stuff into print was a challenge when you were on the road with the boys. Still, watching the way Dean’s eyes had been sparkling when you had come upon him reading through your notebook had lit some sort of fire in you. It was the recognition you had been craving, and then some.

You almost wondered if there wasn’t something deeper going on then the oldest Winchester just thinking you were a good writer. There was an intimacy to the moment that had you feeling open and more exposed than you had ever been with him before.

“Hey,” you said trying to cut through the thickness of the moment, “do you want to hang out for a while.”

He nodded in agreement and went to head in the direction of the door but you put your hand out to stop him.

“No, dude I meant in here.”

You loved the way his smile lit up his whole face, it seemed to penetrate his eyes and spread out from there, “Yeah,” his voice cracked a little and you did your best to stifle a laugh, “let’s hang out here,” he said.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, you leaned your head so it bumped against the wall. When Dean continued to stand in the middle of the room awkwardly you patted the space beside you for emphasis and he nodded before coming to join you.

He was still clutching the old worn notebook in his hands, and you noticed with slight distress that he was worrying the pages between his fingers, so you stilled his motions.

“Do you want me to show you something,” you asked, you had an idea that you were thought even though you might regret it now was as good a time as any.

“Sure.”

“Here give me this,” you said plucking back your notebook and starting to flip through the pages.

You found the specific entry easily, it was the one you were the most familiar with because it was the thing you most frequently added to. It was a poem. You started to read it gently, it referenced the strange green waves of an ocean tide, the way that the light seemed to burst from inside of them, and the love you felt gazing upon it. Dean was silent the entire time you read.

“Well, what do you think?”

He was silent. He had come across the poem when he had looked at the notebook before she had come home. There was something about hearing her voice read the words that had him choking up. The way her voice rose and fell with the various lines, the soft shift in inflection at the change in meaning. It was like experiencing a living thing.

“I loved it.” He didn’t hesitate because it was beyond true.

With that he braced himself, you pushed your lips against his, and he was caught off guard by the swiftness of it. He couldn’t believe the softness of her skin underneath his fingertips or the way her mouth tasted sweet like a ripe strawberry. He didn’t want her to ever stop.

Eventually, you did. When you pulled back you took a deep gulping breath of air, and he noticed the way your skin was pink and your eyes were dark and filled with lust.

But, his heart stopped at the words you whispered to him.

“I love you, Dean Winchester.”

He decided right then that finding your notebook was the best thing that had ever happened to him.


End file.
